


My Brain Is Like Bzzz

by Duck_Life



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Autism, Autistic Christine Canigula, Echolalia, Gen, PlayRide if you squint, Self-Acceptance, Stimming, there's a lot of 'autistic people are like children' ableism fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 20:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Even after the play, Christine's Squip doesn't fully disappear. It crops up at the most inconvenient times to tell her how to act "normal."





	My Brain Is Like Bzzz

“… would be so cool if Mr. Reyes agreed to let us put on  _ Venice _ ,” Christine gushes one day at lunch, chattering excitedly. “I would definitely want to be Willow, I mean her songs are just phenomenal, I’ve listened to the soundtrack like sixty billion times.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Jeremy interjects from across the table. He, Jenna and Brooke are actually listening to her, which is kind. Once Christine really gets going about a special interest, she gets that she can be too engrossed to be super interesting. “Is it on Spotify?”

“Yes!” she says, flapping her hands in excitement. “It’s like a modern  _ Othello _ , kind of, and there’s a ton of hip hop influences and underlying political themes and it’s just  _ so _ cool.”

_ Stop flapping your hands, you look ridiculous.  _ Christine’s gaze jerks up to the shimmery figure of former first lady Hillary Clinton glaring at her.  _ If you want anyone to respect you, you’ll stop looking so ridiculous when you talk. _

Instinctively, Christine smooths her hands over her skirt, trying to still her body. She can still remember second grade, getting notes sent home, getting chastised and corrected every five minutes. Quiet hands, Christine. Active listening, Christine. Eye contact, Christine.

“Sorry,” she says aloud. Her friends look alarmed.

“For what?” Jenna says, concern leaching into her warm smile.

“I didn’t mean to get so carried away,” she says, feeling the Squip’s cold eyes on her. “I, um, we can talk about something else.”

_ Of course they want to talk about something else _ , the Squip sneers.  _ They want to talk about real things, things that matter.  _ Christine just shuts her mouth and tries to keep her hands from fluttering.

The Squip is gone, for real. She and Jeremy and Jenna have talked about this, texted about this. When she drank the Mountain Dew Red, when that high-pitched scream ripped its way out of her throat… that killed the thing, for sure.

But it lingers still. Afterimages, memories. Sometimes when she’s sitting at home, working on homework, the Squip crops up and tells her to fix her makeup. Sometimes when she’s up on stage, performing, the Squip crops up and tells her to stop betraying so much emotion, to just be more chill.

* * *

 

She’s on stage rehearsing her part in the school’s production of  _ My Fair Lady _ . They modernized it and made it gay, and Christine’s having the time of her life. “Say it with me, now,” Brooke recites, sounding a little stiff as she practices her lines, but at least she remembers the words. “‘The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains.’” 

“The rain in Spain… Henny, why do I need to do this?” Christine says, playing her part. “What if I don’t want to change? What if I like myself the way I am?”

“It’s not about what you like, it’s about what everyone else likes,” Brooke says, adding a dramatic flourish. “Come on, now, Eliza. ‘The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains.’”

She sighs theatrically. “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains.”

_ Quit fidgeting so much _ , Christine’s Squip pipes up. It’s been watching her from a folding chair in front of the stage.  _ You’re playing a regular character, not a four-year-old. No one’s going to find you believable if you can’t stop cracking your knuckles, Christine. _

* * *

 

In history class, when she can’t stop jiggling her leg, the Squip appears beside her.  _ Don’t do that _ , it says, sinister and cold.  _ Please act like an adult. Please act like a human being. _

Christine tries to keep her leg still, even though it feels like fire ants are crawling up and down her body and Mr. Henderson’s voice drones on but she can’t pay attention to it without relieving the tension aching through her body.

At the play, so many months ago, she realized she wanted an easy life. But her life has never been easy. Everything is too loud and too fast, and people want her to stand up straight and stand still and look them in the eye. Life’s never been easy, but the Squip promised to make it somewhat easier.

But now, these remnants of the Squip… they just make her feel useless and miserable.

_ No one will ever care about you or what you have to say if you keep rambling on like an overexcited child _ , the Squip tells her.

* * *

 

At lunch, Christine stays quiet and keeps her hands folded in her lap, no matter how much energy she feels buzzing through her arms and wrists. Jenna chats with Chloe and Michael about the latest X-Men movie and Jeremy gets roped into a conversation with Rich and Jake about what would be scarier, one horse-sized duck or a thousand duck-sized horses.

“Hey,” Brooke says, dropping her voice and leaning forward so her hair covers her face, “are you alright?”

Christine looks at Brooke, then at her Squip, not sure how to answer. “Just… stuff,” she says evasively.

Brooke nods with a knowing look on her face, glancing at her nails, bitten down to the nub. “You mean like trippy stuff?” she asks quietly. “Like after we did ecstasy at the school play? You know… sometimes I have relapses, too.”

Christine studies her, thinking about the play and Jeremy and the tangle toy she used to keep in her purse that the Squip made her break. “What does… I mean, um, who do you see?”

It should be an odd question, but for some reason it’s not. Brooke just nods understandingly. “Taylor Swift,” she admits. “Just every now and then. She shows up and tells me I’m desperate, or ugly, or Chloe hates me.” She purses her lips like she’s said too much and looks back down at her fingernails. “What about you?”

Christine frowns and looks over at her Squip, haughty and condescending. “Hillary Clinton,” she says, feeling embarrassed. “It’s stupid.”

“No, I get it,” Brooke says, giving her an encouraging smile. “I mean, who’s chiller than… Chillary,” she giggles.

* * *

 

While painting sets one afternoon, Christine entertains herself by repeating her lines over and over. “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains,” she says, smiling as she swipes red paint over a piece of plywood. “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains.”

_ What are you, a broken record? _ the Squip says, flaring to life beside her.  _ Speak like a normal person. _

Christine bites her lip. “The rain in Spain--”

_ Stop. _

“The rain--”

_ No.  _ The Squip sighs.  _ Why do I even bother with you? You were never going to be normal. _

* * *

 

Christine goes to the mall to buy a new stim toy and the Squip appears beside her as she browses through the store.  _ This is a children’s toy store, Christine _ , the Squip says, sounding angry and disappointed.  _ You should be spending your money on things that matter, like new clothes and some behavioral therapy to make you act like a normal person. What are you doing? _

“It makes me happy,” she mumbles, grabbing a tangle and a tin of kinetic sand. “I deserve to be happy.” 

_ You deserve to be locked away from other people until you can act like a regular person _ , the Squip says as Christine gets in line.  _ You’re seriously buying this? I hope you have a good explanation for your peers at school about why you need to carry toys around like a child.  _

Christine ignores the Squip and buys the fidgets, but once home she can’t bring herself to use them. The Squip is always watching her, judging her. Christine’s stomach hurts and her vision swims and she just wants to be  _ okay _ . 

_ You could be normal _ , the Squip points out.  _ I know everything you need to do to make everyone think you’re normal.  _

Christine sits on her couch, listening to the Squip’s voice in her head. She’s the one who screamed and shut down all the Squips; it makes sense that she’d have to face consequences from whatever programming is still swimming around her brain. 

It’s just that she never wanted to be forced to change. She feels everything intensely and sure, sometimes she gets confused, but the zing of energy she feels at play rehearsal is usually so invigorating it makes up for anything she’s missed out on. 

_ Just let me help you _ , the Squip says.  _ You could finally grow up and be normal. _

“I am grown up,” Christine says defiantly, but she’s run out of words. She doesn’t know what to tell the Squip to make it go away, or at least to defend herself. But she knows what her character in  _ My Fair Lady _ would say. “I like myself the way I am,” she says, and lifts her chin. “I like myself the way I am.”

Surprisingly, the Squip glitches out, its pixels vanishing and reappearing.  _ Christine… _

“I like myself the way I am!” Christine announces, banishing the Squip. “I like myself the way I am.” The Squip flares again, and then vanishes. “I like myself the way I am,” Christine says to herself, satisfied and self-assured. 

Maybe the Squip will come back again. But she’ll be ready for it. 


End file.
